


Death will soothe us in its arms

by Rifmelody



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2188494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rifmelody/pseuds/Rifmelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario doesn't have long to live anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death will soothe us in its arms

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first piece of fanfiction I post here, or the first piece I post anywhere, in fact. English isn't my first language so I'm sorry if I made any mistakes. Feedback is really appreciated! This fic was hugely inspired by the wonderful song 'La petite mort' by the equally wonderful Coeur de Pirate.

It is a beautiful sunset. It really is. Marco’s hand finds mine and squeezes it. The last light of the day shines over the mountains as we stand there. When the light has almost completely faded, Marco turns and starts to make his way down, pulling me with him. He guides me step by step, while my breathing becomes more and more ragged. My vision slowly turns black for lack of oxygen. When I really can’t continue anymore, Marco picks me up without hesitation and carries me to our house, where he carefully lies me down in our bed before getting in himself. He waits until my breathing has become steady again before pulling me in his arms. 

I know I should have told him before we started this. Long before a magical, rainy night. Long before our first time. I didn’t, I couldn’t. Only when I had to quit football did I tell him. Tell him that I was hurting, that my heart wouldn’t be able to keep up for much longer. That I was heading towards a certain death. He left. Without saying a single thing. Two weeks later I found him on my doorstep again. 

Talking was never something we did much. Since I quit football, it has become even less. We know what each conversation would lead too and prefer not to talk at all, than to talk about me and my condition. We bonded over football, but there’s no talk about teams and training regimen anymore. I know that somewhere, he still blames me for luring him in. I still blame myself too, for being egoist. Yet, I wouldn’t do things any different if given the chance. I know he wouldn’t either. 

Because despite my condition weighing heavily on the both of us, there are still so many magical moments we’ve both become addicted to. Drinking tea together when it’s cold. Our hands brushing against each other during quiet walks. Watching the sun set over the mountains. 

One day, when the pain becomes unbearable and my heart is once and for all put to bed, I know I will at least have the promise of death to soothe me. Marco will be left with pain even harder to bear. 

Yet, I know, and he does too, that it has all been worth it.


End file.
